


Senses Fail

by Ms_Tinker



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, War time, mildly smutty, steggyweek2k16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Tinker/pseuds/Ms_Tinker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is having a hard time controlling himself around Peggy, now that he's got super soldier serum running through his veins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senses Fail

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SteggyWeek2k16 on Tumblr.

It really is astonishing how tense he is, his fingernails curling into his palms in a desperate attempt to exert his energy elsewhere, help him focus. Well, focus on anything other than Peggy perched across the briefing table from him. He would prefer it if his focus could be on what Phillips was saying about their next operation, but he'll settle for the mild sting of his nails digging into his own skin.

Because holy Christ, it's like he's on sensory overload with her.

This is the first time he's been in an enclosed space with her since his transformation into Captain America and he had no idea his body would behave like this. There are a lot of things he's still getting used to— his now bulking frame, his abnormal strength, and while he has had some trouble adjusting to the constant bombardment of the world around him, nothing compares to his reaction to Peggy the moment he stepped into the room.

She had already found her seat before he entered, just left of Phillips, her mind already occupied with the files laid out before her. Pertaining to their next mission, no doubt. But walking into the room, Steve is hit by a solid wave of what he can only describe as her.

He is completely consumed by her scent, right off the bat. The airy florals of her perfume mixing with the spicy aroma of her skin is making his head spin. He wants nothing more than to be able to press his nose just beneath her jaw and breath her in. He wonders if her skin tastes the same way she smells? And sitting across from her now has not made his situation better. In fact, it's probably worse.

Now, he's not only close enough to hear Peggy breathing, but he can now also hear her heartbeat thundering away in her chest. Most of the time it is steady, as she keeps her attention on the work before her, listening intently to Phillips. But on the rare moment she glances up from her papers and catches his eye, he can hear her heart begin to pick up pace. And that has been doing no favors to his focus, as all it seems to do is fill his mind with the knowledge that he makes her body react that way and how he could use that to his advantage down the line.

He's also finding it difficult to not stare at her perfect lips, which has been interesting, considering he's still trying to keep up the charade that he's paying attention to Phillips' battle strategy. But she keeps pulling her lower lip gently between her teeth when she's especially engrossed and he's curious to know if she only does that when she's working, or if she does it when she's focused on other things too? He wants to know what it feels like to have his lip between her teeth, her breath gliding warm and wet over his mouth...

He digs his nails deeper into his palm. He is concerned at this point that he may draw blood, but it's really a small price to pay for not making a complete ass of himself in front of literally everyone that matters.

"Rogers?"

The sound of name snaps him out of his own head.

"Hmmm?"

"If you'd be so kind as to answer my question, once you're done daydreaming about Carter."  
Panic floods his body. He has no idea what Phillips had even asked him. His eyes are wide searching for some sign of what Phillips had been talking about. Good Christ...

He catches a flick of red out of the corner of his eye. Peggy's nail polish flashing against the white paper beneath her hands. He glances down at it. Even with it being upside down and in cursive (she really does have the most elegant handwriting) he can make out a list of supplies for their next mission. His eyes shoot to her's, searching for affirmation of any kind that this is his way out. She gives him the barest hint of a nod.

"Yes, Sir. I believe that should be sufficient."

Phillips' eyes narrow at him, clearly debating weather or not embarrass him further, though eventually turning away and continuing on.

He lets out a tense exhale, willing for this briefing to end, willing to leave the room as quickly as possible, reach fresh air as quickly as possible; because until he learns to acclimate to his new sensory receptors, he fears that he won't be able to get anything done with Peggy around. He has no idea how long that might take, or how long his control might last. He counts it as a miracle that he's even made it this far.

"See you at 07:00. Dismissed."

He is out of the room like a bullet. As soon as the fresh air hits his lungs, his mind begins to clear itself of its Peggy-induced haze. He breaths deeply, relishing some of the control he has reestablished over his body.

He paces back and forth for a moment before he hears Phillips and Peggy's voices on the opposite side of the door. He makes a move to leave before they exit the doors but is too late.

"Captain Rogers, could I have a word?" Peggy's voice is crisp and businesslike, cutting through the air around him, less of a question and more of an order.

He freezes on the spot, too terrified of his own lack of control to turn. But who is he to refuse?

"Of course, Agent Carter."

He follows her around the corner to a small door just off the side of the building. She makes note of her surroundings before she opens the door and slips inside, holding it open for him to follow. He hesitates, knowing his reaction to her just moments ago in a large friending room and terrified of what being another enclosed space with her is going to be like.

"Well?" Her voice pierces through his thoughts before he follows her, commanding himself to remain in control, no matter what the cost.

It's a store room, filled with crates of various supplies and rations. A bare light bulb swings above them, casting odd shadows around the tiny room. He stands there awkwardly, his body tense as he tries to breath as shallowly as he can. Peggy watches him watch her, her large brown eyes taking in his face, teeth pressed tightly together.

"Something the matter, Captain?"

"No, ma'am."

"Are you sure? You know—"

"No, ma'am, nothing's the matter. Please, what did you wish to speak to me about?"

He catches the quickening of her heartbeat at his question.

"I saw you watching me," and just like that, the energy in the room changes, becomes electrified with whatever is happening between them. His stomach twists, his skin prickling with a blush like a school boy caught red handed by the headmistress.

"I'm sorry," he dips his head, unable to look her in the eye from embarrassment.

"Are you?" She presses him, unsatisfied with his response.

There is a moment of silence, his gaze raising to hers as the battle of weather or not to tell her ranges within him.

"Not really," he says it in barely more than a whisper, terrified of what she will think of him.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why were you watching me?" She's gotten closer, or maybe he has. He doesn't remember moving, but he can't remember her moving either. Regardless, she's so close that he could easily reach out and touch her. He feels the heat radiating off her skin, even now, her heart beating away at a deafening pace. All he wants to do is close the remaining space between them, pressing his body into hers, allow himself to be devoured by the perfect creature standing before him.

"Steve?" The way she says his name, light and questioning, is his undoing.

"I couldn't focus on anything other than you. Still can't," he blurts out the words, looking just past her right hand, staring down a knot in the wood of one of the crates. If he looks at her, he knows that his resolve will completely disappear.

He swallows thickly as her hand reaches out, her fingers tentatively moving across his cheek, pulling his eyes back to her. He looks pained.

"Please, may I kiss you?" He knows it sounds pathetic and God forbid that Bucky should ever find out that he begged Margaret Carter for a kiss, but everything else be damned, because all he wants to do right now is taste her, feel her, memorize her. If he waits much longer he might explode.

Her lips meet his so suddenly that he forgets everything for a moment, how to kiss, where he his, who he is, how to breath, all of it, completely gone. But only for a moment. As soon as she starts to move against him, everything comes flooding back in a wave.

His hands move up to cup her face, one hand holding steady, the other sliding back along her neck, gliding through the hair at the base of her neck. Warm silk is the only thing that comes to mind when he tries to figure out what her skin feels like and his fingers continue to explore, trying to confirm that description.

She moans as his fingers massage the base of her skull as his tongue slips into her mouth, tasting her for the first time. He craves to hear her make that sound again.

Finally, every cell in his body is humming with pleasure as he is now able to devote all of his attention to her. And God, is it glorious that she is returning his fervor. Her hands are all over him and he finds himself truly excited, for the first time, by the thought of letting a woman touch his body. And the fact that the woman touching him is a woman as smart, as powerful, and as sexy as Margret Carter, well, it's almost more than he can stand.

His hand moves from her jaw down to her waist, brushing lightly against the swell of her breasts beneath her uniform. Her breath escapes her in a shaky exhale.

"Is this what you had in mind in the briefing?" Peggy manages in a rough whisper.

"God yes," he groans, pushing her back so that she is pinned between his body and a stack of crates. His leg moves between hers, her skirt riding up around her thighs. She rolls her hips, experimenting with the friction against his leg. She hums with pleasure, her head rolling back, exposing her neck as he happily darts his tongue out. She tastes even better than he expected.

"Good, because," she fights out between groans, "when you came back with 107th I nearly took you right there." He pulls back, his eyes wide and jaw slack.

"Really?"

"Oh yes, in front of God and everybody," she grins, wide and devious.

The thought of her craving him almost as much as he craves her is exciting in ways he never imagined. And his response is to kiss her, hard and wet, as he tries to explain in a way that his words can't, what she does to him. Maybe one day he'll be able to tell her how her scent completely intoxicates him, how he could listen to her heartbeat for the rest of his life. Maybe he'll be able to explain how watching her hips sway when she walks makes his head spin, or how her voice imbeds itself into a part of his soul that he hadn't even known existed.

But for now, he settles for making her feel every good he can provide for her, his hand sliding down her waist, working its way between her thighs. He growls, deep within his chest, against her mouth when he makes contact, the wetness of her arousal evident on the tips of his fingers, even through the last layer of fabric. He grins against her as she whimpers, pushing herself against his fingers. He's never heard her make anything remotely close to that sound before and he adores the idea that it was for his ears only.

He is about to work his way past her panties when the bugle sounds, calling the camp to mess hall.

"Bloody Nora," Peggy swears, her head thudding against the wood crate behind her.  
  
"Stay," he whispers into her neck. His lips dance across her skin and for a moment he thinks she might.

"I can't."

She pushes at his shoulders lightly, displeasure at the loss of contact evident on her face. She pulls her skirt back down around her knees, smoothing out the wrinkles, before looking up at him. He's sure his disappoint is written across his face, because she strokes the backs of her fingers lightly across his cheek, pushing herself up on her toes to lean her forehead against his.

"I don't want to go, if it makes a difference."

"It does," he relinquishes, kissing her lightly before pulling away. He pulls at his jacket, trying to smooth everything out, until he notices Peggy eyeing him, amusement glinting in her eyes.

"You look a right state, Captain," she reaches out and smooths his hair back before straightening his tie. She licks her thumb and rubs at the corners of his mouth, removing the smeared lipstick from his face. "There. Presentable again."

"Thanks. You've got a little," he gestures to her chin where lipstick has been smeared.

"Care to help a lady with that?" And he repeats her actions, licking his thumb and stroking away the remnants of their escapade. "We will continue this conversation this evening."

He nods in reply, his hand settling on the door nob, not entirely willing to face the real world yet.

"Listen, the guys and I were planning on going to find a pub this evening. I don't know if it's really your thing or not, but if you wanted to come, I'd be more than—" she cuts off his rambling invitation with a quick, yet solid kiss.

"I would be delighted to join you," she replies, placing her hand over his and turning the handle herself. "Until this evening, my darling," and she kisses him once more before pushing the door open, flooding the small space with bright, grey, English light.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sunlight and by the time they do, Peggy is gone. The only thing that tells him that he's not woken from a dream is the floral and spicy scent that still lingers around him, having seeped it's way into the weave of his clothing, and the warm buzzing he feels across his lips and fingers from her last contact.

And even though his senses are only left with what amounts to an echo of her, he feels satiated with the knowledge that he wasn't imagining things. It wasn't a dream. Peggy had touched him, kissed him, wanted him. And he grinned with satisfaction at the promise of what the evening was still to bring.


End file.
